


Kiss Me

by maiNuoire



Series: Sterek Valentine's Day Candy Heart Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, soul mark, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek really doesn't want to be at this party</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "kiss me"
> 
> This AU thing is a departure for me, so please let me know what you think (maybe this will be a verse, if enough of you like it?)

Strictly speaking, he's supposed to be meeting people at this party. Supposed to be shaking hands and comparing marks, looking for the person with the tattoo-like marking that matches his own pattern of swirls. His soul mate mark decorates his back, so it's been a struggle all his life; he's endlessly jealous of these who wear their marks on their wrist, or their cheek.   
  
It's part of the reason his sister's threw this party for him in a rented out nightclub, where basis states of undress would be expected, even welcome.   
  
So, he's supposed to be working his way through the crowd and smiling, flirting with anyone who catches his eye, and even those that don't, just in case his soul mate is someone he's not initially attracted to. Because once they find each other, once they /kiss/, it'll be like magic. The world will be brighter and louder and more colorful, and he will find that nothing is more beautiful than his mate.   
  
At least, that's the propaganda.    
  
Derek isn't so sure he buys it. And he definitely doesn't agree with the way the older packs are forced into these ridiculous traditions and rituals; it might be in a nightclub, with a DJ and a strobe light, but this was still a goddamned /ball/. And Derek guesses that means he's the Prince, looking for his Cinderella. When he gets his own territory, he's going to let his betas /date/, like normal people. Date, and kiss strangers when they go out to bars, and not end up a 23 year old who has never even been kissed out of some antiquated notion of purity.   
  
Still, Derek is supposed to be mingling, ludicrous soul mating tradition or not. But instead, he's watching a small group of college kids dance and laugh, wishing he was part of it. There's a redheaded woman, in heels that look dangerous and a designer dress, a tall man with longish brown hair and a lopsided grin with his arm around a pretty Asian girl with an easy smile and combat boots, but the man Derek can't stop looking at- he's all lithe, lightly muscled limbs and pale, mole dotted skin, and a mouth that looks made for wicked things and lazy grins.   
  
He's beautiful, and Derek wants nothing more than to talk to him, to see what it takes to make him laugh, to hear it with his own ears. But, he's frozen in place. Scared he won't be able to speak to the man without wanting to kiss him, wanting /more/. And Derek thinks that he could be happy with this man and his wide smiles, with the mischief in his eyes and the long, well made fingers that move around while he talks. But he's supposed to find his soul mate, so they can lead a pack together, and if the man is not his mate, Derek isn't sure he'd be able to walk away from him. So he stays where he is, watching.   
  
Someone bumps his shoulder, and Derek turns to see his friend Boyd grinning at him knowingly, Derek scowls at him, but the other man just smirks back. "You should go dance," he says with fake casualness.   
  
"I don't dance," he grumbles.   
  
"That's bullshit, Derek, everyone can dance like this," Erica chimes in, appearing out of nowhere and gesturing expansively at the dance floor at "this" to indicate the general writhing and jumping that was passing for dancing.   
  
"A long way from the waltz," he mutters, noisily to himself, but his friends both laughed lightly anyway.   
  
"Come with us," Erica said, holding out a hand for Derek as she wrapped one of Boyd's arms around her. Derek can't really say no to her, especially when she's smiling so brightly at him. And the multicolored lights of the club flashing across her blonde hair in dizzy patterns add an air of mystery to her challenging gaze, so Derek reaches out to take her hand and lets himself be dragged to the dance floor.   
  
It isn't until he realizes that Boyd and Erica are leading him directly to the man with the wicked mouth and his friends that Derek reconsiders Boyd and Erica as his future packmates.   
  
Before he can say anything, before he can even get nervous, Erica is manoeuvring his movements into something resembling a dance, and he just goes with it for a moment, lets the bass and the rhythm sink into his limbs, lets the music guide him until he's moving easily, hips rocking and torso swaying in time with the beat in a way that feels natural and almost sensuous.   
  
He has no idea how the eyes of anyone close enough to see him linger over him.   
  
He isn't sure how, but at some point he realizes he's dancing with the man he'd been watching all night, his hands settled on narrow hips, long, strong arms wreaked around his neck, and a whisper of warm breath in his ear as the man leans in to speak into Derek's ear, "Hi, I'm Stiles, and you move like you were made for it. Wanna dance?"   
  
When he pulls back to look at Stiles, he's struck by how beautiful he is up close; his eyes are like warm whiskey, and full of promises. Derek leans into the man, close enough to take in a lungful of his spicy-sweet scent, speaks into his ear, "I'm Derek. And aren't we already dancing, Stiles?"   
  
The small shiver that Stiles gives at hearing his name is almost as satisfying as the way Stiles throws his head back laughing, the sound clear to Derek even above the music, the long column of his throat an enticing line. Derek feels a whine catch in the back of his throat, but manages to suppress it.   
  
Stiles smiles at him, and they dance, moving together like they've done so for years, but Derek keeps a small space between them, which Stiles respects. Derek is too aware of the other man, and he doesn't want to ruin the moment with ridiculous ritual.   
  
After several songs, Stiles stiffens, his body no longer pliant and relaxed under Derek's hands. He grabs Derek's shoulders and leans in urgently, his words an anxious ramble tumbling out at high speed, "I'm sorry, but my ex is here and he just spotted us and if he thinks we're together he'll stop coming over here, so if it's ok do you think you could please maybe kiss me?"   
  
Derek is barely done processing the words, but Stiles must take something he does as consent, because the next thing he knows there are warm, soft lips pressed against his. And then, like with the dancing, their mouths are moving together like they've had a lifetime of practice, and Derek had never tasted anything half as delicious as Stiles tongue when it slides along the seam of Derek's mouth just before Derek eagerly opens for him, sucks his tongue gently as it sweeps into his mouth.   
  
He notices idly that they're dancing again, hips grinding against each other and hands roaming over warm skin and soft cotton, but the wet drag of Stiles' lips against his own and the sound of their hearts beating in unison is overwhelming his senses. Stiles' fingers are anchored in his hair, and Derek has one hand splayed wide across Stiles' back and the other is palming one firm, round butt cheek, and the shitty club music sounds like the goddamned Philharmonic, and /holy shit/!    
  
Derek pulls away from Stiles with great effort, finds a dazed and shocked expression painted on his beautiful face that he's sure is mirrored on his own. He cradles Stiles' face in one hand, the other holds him, keeps him close. Stiles' mirrors him, with one large hand on Derek's stubbled cheek, the other fisted in the fabric of his shirt and resting on his shoulder.   
  
Stiles searches his face, like there are answers there. "Stiles? Do you have a mark?"   
  
Stiles only nods, eyes locked on Derek's, licks his lips as his gaze drops briefly to Derek's mouth. He takes the hand from Derek's face and pulls the collar of his dark t-shirt down a couple inches, revealing collar bones that Derek wants to lick and bite and mark with claiming kisses, and next to one glorious freckle is Stiles' soul mate mark: a perfect replica of Derek's own.   
  
"It's a-" Stiles begins.   
  
Derek cuts him off, "A triskelion."    
  


Stiles nods and Derek grins, turning to reveal his mark, clearly visible through the white, threadbare shirt, now sweaty and nearly see through. Stiles gasps behind him, uses his beautiful hands to turn Derek back toward him, he's smiling and having the full force of a genuine smile from this man might be the single most intense thing that Derek has ever experienced.   
  


And then, Stiles is kissing him again, and Derek doesn't think about anything else for a long while, except that the propaganda was totally right.   


 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on[tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poetry-protest-pornography)! Send me a prompt, talk Sterek to me!


End file.
